


Doom and Gloom

by DustyForgotten



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 19:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13347723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustyForgotten/pseuds/DustyForgotten





	Doom and Gloom

Bullets, arrows, all means of projectile streak the sky, smoke obscures the screams from the battlefield below, and Sombra finishes off her pursuer while backing out onto roof access, where she can take a moment and tend to her wounds. She’s not startled to see Reaper standing silently, looking out on the city, although certainly on the side of confused.

“Are we waiting on Moira?” she asks, because the only thing she knows to keep Reaper out of the action is physical incapability. Without a response, he disperses into mist, and spills off the rooftop. “ _ Teatrero, _ ” she mutters, and goes back to work.

Unseen in the gathered haze of gunfire, Reaper materializes in a cozy hideaway— good cover, health pack in one corner, a way out if he needs it— whoever set up in here knows what they’re doing. The soldier’s currently struggling to clear the chamber of a semiautomatic, metal creaking against a jammed casing to mask the sound of a dead man walking.

He puts the barrel of his shotgun to the back of the man’s head, and utters, “Say goodbye.”

The man lets out a long breath, almost resigned, and tosses the gun aside. He raises his hands, palms open. “Which way?” Reaper tilts the barrel to the ceiling, because he’s still a soldier at heart, and you don’t point a gun at anyone you don’t want dead. It leaves ash and oil in white hair on the way up. “This is a capture, right? I can’t imagine anyone with the experience to get a position like that giving it up for the hell of it.”

Not about to look a gift horse in the face, he gets just enough space between them Soldier can’t grab his gun. “Hands on your head. Two steps, backward.” He does, slowly, into the dark, as the sounds of combat fade to the distance. “Name.”

“Soldier 76.”

“ _ Real _ name.”

Laced fingers brush down his buzz-cut. “Jack Morrison.”

He only needs one shotgun to stick a man up: Reaper tosses his spare aside, and grabs Jack, shoves his back against the wall with his forearm across his throat. It’s a common name, there must be a hundred of them in the US army— but only one so jaded. He’s beyond grey, lines carved deep into his forehead, an earpiece he can hear this close-up, calling for a rendezvous; it won’t be long before they miss their golden boy gone bronze. He can’t tell. He just can’t see for sure, and if there is one thing left he needs, it’s to know.

He pops the cap over his ear, pulls wires until it shorts, calling to his own, “Status report.”

Widowmaker comes back, in the distracted drawl of a woman staring down a scope. “We have ze upper hand; it is all zey can do to hold what ground is left.”

“Disengage.”

He hears an energy blast, followed by, “ _ Excusez-moi? _ ”

“If we reconvene and scout ahead, we won’t be walking into a trap.” He’s not failing another mission after the last; no more running blind.

“Yoo-hoo, Reaper?” Sombra speaks up, “Unless you plan on making lots more friends today, take your own advice. Company’s coming.”

He can hear jingling footsteps over her narration. “Thanks for the warning,” he snaps, ignoring her snarky reply while he holds Jack like a human shield. He knows Overwatch won’t hurt their own— stun them, though, he can work with that. Metal claws grip the frozen Soldier before Reaper slips out of existence again.


End file.
